


You Are Cordially Invited To Play A Game

by ivorytower



Category: Homestuck, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: And Astralune, And Yet It Did Anyway, But None To Andrew Hussie, F/M, Homestuck-Style Resurrection, It’s So Convenient One of the Vessels Isn’t Named, M/M, Non-Permanent Character Death, Oathbringer spoilers, Possibly Stormlight Archives Style ‘I Ain’t Dead Yet Fuckers’ Resurrection, They’re Two Different Kinds Trust Me, This Wasn’t Supposed To Happen, With Apologies to Brandon Sanderson, You Got Homestuck In My Stormlight Archives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: Long ago, Odium and Honour struck a bargain for the fate of Roshar. Champions have been chosen, pieces have been moved into place. All twelve people have to do is play a game...--Notes: Set after the flight from Kholinar, but before the end of Oathbringer. For reasons. Certain canonical events did not happen or happen differently. This is aStormlight Archivesuniverse story that has hadHomestuckrules applied to it.
Relationships: Dalinar Kholin/Navani Kholin, Kaladin/Adolin Kholin, Shallan Davar/Adolin Kholin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 17





	1. Setting Up The Board

_ Once, Long Ago... _

“Hello, Rayse.” The voice, resonant and deep, echoed throughout the skies of Braize, stirring up the endless ash-storms that reminded him often of the work that others had done on a distant, broken world. Odium, once called Rayse, swirled. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

“Tanavast,” he spat. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I am,” Honour said, his voice at once both nauseatingly humble and filled with unwarranted pride. “Nonetheless, we need to talk. I know what you’re doing. I know what you have planned.”

“I’m going to destroy existence itself, and make idiots like Ati and Skai look like base amateurs,” Odium said. “How many of us have I already killed? I’ll give you a hint, at least one of them is  _ you.  _ So, unless you have something interesting to say...”

“I do,” Honour said. “You still haven’t been able to find Cultivation, have you? She’s smarter than I am, and certainly smarter than you are.”

Odium snarled, and the winds picked up, whipping tiny pieces of obsidian through the air. Were there anything living and physical on Braize, it would have been shredded like so much paper. “I  _ will  _ find her, you  _ cannot  _ keep her from me.”

“You will eventually, but the longer you wait, the more likely you are to fail,” Honour said. “What if I told you I knew exactly how you could find her?”

“I’d call you a liar, except that you’re  _ Honour,  _ aren’t you, Tanavast?” Odium said. “The holder of oaths, honesty, trust. I wouldn’t believe you’re capable of betraying your sworn ally.”

“It’s not a betrayal if it’s what she and I agreed to,” Honour said. “I will tell you exactly where to find Cultivation  _ if  _ you agree to my terms. No agreement, no information... and no information means my champions will destroy yours and you’ll be splintered, your ambitions curtailed.”

“You’re... serious, aren’t you?” Odium said, and insofar as a conceptual being of ultimate destruction could, he drew closer. “I don’t know what you and Cultivation are planning, but if you’re foolish enough to offer her to me, then I will take your bargain.”

“Your word?” Honour said. It took a moment, but he stood on Braize as Tanavast, his hand outstretched. Odium hesitated, then took his own form. Rayse grasped Tanavast’s hand, and the obsidian abraded flesh that was not truly skin, their bodies merely an old, old memory of a different time.

“My word,” Odium said. “I will agree to your terms, so long as you are truthful with me about where Cultivation has been hiding all this time.”

“My word,” Honour said, “that if you agree to my terms, I will give you the information you desire most, the location of the Shard of Cultivation.”

Electricity passed between them, the power of Honour’s storms colliding with Odium’s destructive floods. For a moment, an endless storm warred with a churning sea before their vision cleared. Rayse gripped Tanavast’s hand tightly. “Well?”

Tanavast held out his other hand. In it was a simple blue sphere, its surface not bright and sparkling as so many, but clouded over, like the world before a storm. The occluded surface was strange, not blue or green or brown, but instead, checkered black and white.

“We play a game,” Honour said. “Your champions and mine, not a battle of armies but for survival, for existence. To encourage the growth, the  _ cultivation,  _ of not just a new world, but an entire universe. One with only one of us remaining. This is where you’ll find Cultivation.”

“A game?” Odium laughed. “I have out-maneuvered you at every step. I have beaten down your Heralds and destroyed your Radiants. I have infected the very  _ souls  _ of the Alethi. I don’t see how you possibly think that you can win. I knew that you were confident, Tanavast, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”

“Does that mean you’re not interested in playing?” Honour asked. “I will allow you to step back from this challenge if you’re afraid.”

“Afraid?” Odium laughed harshly and reached for the sphere. “Don’t be a fool. Soon, you’ll be nothing but a memory and Skaia will be  _ mine.” _

~ * ~

_ Years in the Future... _

_ Whoever said that hospitals are the most depressing places to be has never spent much time in a morgue,  _ Wit mused. Though, a morgue did not quite describe this repository of the wartime dead. The escape from Kholinar had seen the deaths of far too many, one of whom was the Alethi King, Elhokar.  _ You almost did it. You were almost not remembered as a failure. _

The word had come to Wit in a dream, which would have been far more convenient if he’d actually been asleep. It had led him to the ruins of a battlefield and then here, to this house of the dead.

They had bandaged Elhokar’s eye in an attempt to bring dignity to the dead, and in more certain times, he would have been soulcast into a statue in Kholinar. Kholinar, however, had fallen, and instead of a statue, the late king was simply a body waiting for disposal by cremation.

_ It’s just as well that they didn’t turn him into a statue, because that would make this so much more awkward,  _ Wit reflected.  _ I don’t know how I’d haul a statue across Urithiru. As for cremation, that would just be awkward. Imagine if people carried around jars of the ashes of their dead. One good storm and their remains would all be scattered to the winds. _

Fortunately enough, no one was paying attention to where the dead were stored. Not now when there were so many wounded, so many grieving. Navani Kholin and her family, crushed under the weight of loss. Kaladin Stormblessed, one who had failed to protect one of his own, even if he had only barely acknowledged that the King was one of ‘his own’.

_ Now is not the time for philosophy,  _ Wit mused as he grasped the edges of the shroud covering Elhokar, and began to pull.  _ You need a different room for where you’re going. One that will help you be better prepared for what’s to come. Don’t worry, you won’t have missed much by the time you’re ready. _

It took the better part of an hour to get Elhokar to the small, sealed off room he had found that would suit his purposes. The gemstones of Urithiru glittered in the spherelight that he had placed in the wall sconces. He’d found a handful of personal items, including a dead chull, placed in a bucket.

It seemed, somehow, appropriate.

Wit tapped the gemstones on the wall, listening to the way they resonated, pure and sweet, before nodding to himself. From the inside of his coat, he drew a book. He sat down on a chair and began to read. Neither the King, nor the chull, stirred as he waited.

What  _ did  _ stir was the strange pattern that had been on the King’s clothing since he was found, slowly moving from the edge of his coat, up towards the shadows of his folded hands.

_ Not for me, I suppose, but that can’t be helped. Everything is in motion,  _ Wit thought as he began to read.  _ Now all we need is for the world to end. _

~ * ~

_ Months in the Past... _

Outside, a highstorm rumbled over the Shattered Plains. With each boom, it cried a name, the name of one of the broken, disgraced dead. One who had tried to reach out for peace and found only endless, eternal war.

_ Eshonai... _

It was the way of the Parshendi not to touch the dead. Their corpses were left behind to be swept away in the flooding that came with the highstorms to wash clean the world and all of the death that polluted it.

_ Eshonai... _

_ Go away,  _ thought the Singer.  _ I’m dead. _

_ No, you aren’t,  _ the highstorm said.  _ You’re alive. Really, did you think that death was your true destiny? You have so much left to do, my Champion. _

_ I am not--  _ Eshonai opened her eyes slowly, and tried to sit up. She hissed in pain as her carapace cracked.  _ Who are you? _

_ A friend... an ally,  _ said the highstorm.  _ Oh, not one of  _ his  _ children, they’re far too crude for this purpose. Though, he has given me a great opportunity. First, I need you to stand. _

_ Oh yes, certainly,  _ Eshonai thought sarcastically, and rolled onto her side. The pain was intense, and red spots flared in her eyes. She sang Pain, and began to rock, trying to get momentum to get to her knees. It took fully minutes before she could rest on hands and knees, and panted, her Song strained. In the storm, the shadows danced crazily and pooled around her.  _ How did you know I was alive? Everyone else left me to die. _

_ I know everything,  _ said the highstorm.  _ I see all, know all, especially when it comes to those who belong to my father; and you  _ are  _ one of his. If you do what he asks, you will have all that you wished for and more. You will even get to see your sister again. _

_ Venli...  _ Eshonai’s breath came sharply.  _ My sister likely cares very little for me. We do not always share goals. _

_ On the contrary, you are much alike. You care about your people, you want the death and violence to end. You want to sing great songs. When you win this contest, you will be able to live freely. You may pursue new forms, keep the ones you like now, or even teach Songs to the humans if you care to do so, though I wouldn’t recommend it. They lack the proper thorax. _

_ Will you get me out of here before the flood kills me for true?  _ Eshonai asked.  _ Or must I beg for my life? _

_ I don’t believe begging is necessary, asking nicely will suffice, but yes, I will lift you up and away,  _ the highstorm said.  _ You will fly like a Windrunner... for a time. _

_ Generous of you,  _ Eshonai thought, attuning Irritation.  _ What choice do I have but to accept your kind offer? What is it you would have me do? I was already fighting the Alethi whenever I could. _

_ There will be more fighting to come,  _ the highstorm said.  _ But for now, all that I want from you is to play a game... _

~ * ~

_ Minutes Into the Present... _

It was all happening again.

Renarin Kholin sat in his room a pen poised over a sheet of paper, his grip loose, and waited for the writing to start. The last time he’d felt the urge, the writing had been on doors and walls, a desperate attempt to warn his father about what was to come.

The last time it had happened, he’d been terrified, confused and unaware of what was happening to him or why, but this time, he knew.

_ It’s still terrifying,  _ Renarin thought as the words came to him.  _ Knowledge has not brought me any greater joy in this matter. _

_ You’re doing fine,  _ Glys told him, wrapped around his arm, pulsing lightly with red.  _ There’s no need to worry. You’re serving your family just as you always have. _

Renarin set his jaw, and tried not to focus too much on the words, lest it break his trance.

_ Don’t forget to tell them about the rooms,  _ Glys urged.  _ The rooms are important. You each need one. _

_ I know, I know...  _ Renarin steadied himself.  _ Though you know they aren’t my words. They’re yours. _

_ That’s... true, I suppose, but look at it this way,  _ Glys said.  _ You don’t have to worry about the final battle, or dying like your cousin did. You don’t have to worry about anything. _

_ No, not dying in battle, not trying to become a warrior and failing, not being incapable of being a man the way people expect me to be,  _ Renarin thought grimly.  _ All I have to do is worry about the end of the world as we know it. _

_ You see?  _ Glys said, missing his bitter sarcasm.  _ Everything will be fine once the game starts. _

_ Who gets left behind?  _ Renarin asked Glys as his left hand drew the paper away.  _ Who gets sacrificed for all of this? _

_ Not as many as you might fear,  _ Glys said.  _ Your family is going. Adolin, your father. Navani and Jasnah. Some others. _

_ My second cousins?  _ Renarin asked.  _ Elhokar’s son, the one that got kidnapped by his own wife’s forces before he was murdered? Will he get to live? _

_ Well... no,  _ Glys admitted. The spren shifted against his elbow, as though steadying him.  _ I don’t believe he will. _

_ What makes us different from Odium?  _ Renarin asked as his eyes fell across the page.  _ What makes us different from the Voidbringers, the Desolations, from everything else that threatens this world and all the people on it? _

_ We’re  _ saving  _ the world, Ren!  _ Glys insisted.  _ Yes, things look dark, but the truth will win out! _

_ I’m afraid,  _ Renarin confessed.  _ I’ve always been afraid. Since my mother died, or even before. Do you know what a changeling is? _

_ No, I can’t say that I do, is it a kind of spren?  _ Glys asked, watching as he continued to write.  _ It’s a funny word, changeling. _

_ It is, especially since it’s what people used to call me when they thought my mother couldn’t hear,  _ Renarin said.  _ It means that they thought my mother’s good, healthy baby was taken to live far away under the earth, and a creature replaced them. One that was weak, cowardly, unworthy of the legacy of the Blackthorn. _

_ That’s... not true at all, Renarin,  _ Glys said.  _ You’re none of those things, you’re the most worthy person I could find. That’s why we’ve bonded, you and I. Because we’re meant to be together. _

_ I’ve heard it said,  _ Renarin continued, as though he hadn’t heard,  _ that those who are chosen to become Radiants are broken in some way. That’s why people like Kaladin or Aunt Jasnah or I are chosen, but people like Adolin aren’t. Fundamentally, we’re ruined in some way. That’s how a spren finds their way in. _

_ I...  _

Glys fell silent, and Renarin continued to write. A half-dozen missives, each addressed to a different member of his family, a different person he knew. One was for Elhokar, dead though he was. The words came as they would, meant for who they were meant for, and there was no stopping that.

_ It’s true,  _ Glys said finally.  _ We come to those who have difficulties within their minds and souls but only to  _ mend  _ not to manipulate! We’re here for our bondkin. I am here for  _ you,  _ Renarin! _

_ I know that,  _ Renarin said, and changed pages again.  _ Just because I’m being honest about all of this doesn’t mean that I don’t care for you, Glys. Even when I didn’t understand what was happening to me or why, I was still fortunate to have you as a lifelong companion. _

_ Good,  _ Glys said.  _ That’s... that’s good. _

Renarin examined the words he was writing, a little curious now about what was spilling from his pen.  _ You are cordially invited to play a game. There will be twelve of you, split into two teams by right of the Dreaming. When the hour is upon us, you must take a room of your own, filled with the gemstones of Urithiru, and prepare for the battle that will decide the very fate of the universe. _

~ * ~

_ Long Ago... _

“There are going to need to be some changes from the usual format,” Tanavast explained to Rayse. “Primarily due to the lack of technological progress. There are technologies that have never been seen by Roshar, much less anyone in the Cosmere. It’s foolish that all people were not afforded the same opportunities at all times. It will make things challenging.”

“Excuses...” Rayse scoffed. “What kinds of exceptions?”

“Normally, the method of communication is through a device that allows written words to be conveyed back and forth in brightly coloured text. Since men are usually forbidden to read or write, and some of the participants are not humans, there needs to be another way to communicate.”

“That can be arranged,” Rayse said impatiently. “Is that all?”

“There are devices that require a certain technical prowess to operate, one almost entirely non-existent on Roshar,” Tanavast said. “For everything to be fair, all must be able to use them to assist others. Without the knowledge to do so, the whole process will fail.”

“I assume,” Rayse said testily, “that you have a plan for that too.”

“I do,” Tanavast said. “Urithiru has a number of gemstones containing information, testimonies of the past for the generations of the future. Some of those gemstones will also possess the technology needed to complete the game, they need only use it.”

“And I suppose you want to tell them  _ all  _ about it, do you?” Rayse asked. “No wonder you want to play this game.”

“The basics must be conveyed, though you may choose how it is done,” Tanavast said. “So long as it is fair.”

“I have the perfect vessel to do so,” Rayse said smugly. “Anything else?”

“This is a game with many layers, like the formation of a world,” Tanavast said. “Many mechanisms will need to be altered or removed entirely, but the most important one remains, the battle for the right to create a new universe.”

“And possession of Skaia herself,” Rayse reminded him, and Tanavast nodded wearily. “You are both such utter fools, I cannot conceive of a reason that you would agree to this. I have already won.”

“Perhaps,” Tanavast said simply. “Perhaps not. Many of the mechanisms of this game were based on another. The pieces, the intentions. Even the aesthetics. You are not as prepared as you hope to be.”

“Is that so..? Well then... let the games begin!”


	2. Opening Moves

_Kaladin == > Blame Yourself For Everything _

The battle for Kholinar was over, and they had lost. More of Kaladin’s men were missing than he liked, which was to say, any at all. Worse yet were the ones who _weren’t_ missing, the ones who were dead. Men like Elhokar Kholin, murdered by Moash, ex-Bridge Four.

Adolin had been forced to drag Kaladin through the Oathgate, and he’d barely felt the strange, disorienting sensation of traveling ‘through the perpendicularity’ as Shallan had called it, and what Adolin referred to as ‘being stretched thin and hoping you still had all your bits by the end of it’.

That had been days ago, and Kaladin had not moved from bed. Stormlight had long since healed his body, but his mind -- and heart -- had broken just a little bit more.

Syl had stayed by his side, sometimes talking to him, sometimes just sitting by him silently. It didn’t matter, the feeling of static was the same; wanting the world to just _go away_ for a little while, and then, a little while longer.

He had visitors, some who brought food, others who urged him to eat. Shallan had visited him for an hour, cajoling him to not feel guilty and threatening to fill her sketchbook with pictures of him lying in bed in turn, but in the end, she had left.

Rock had come to check up on him, trying to determine the state of his being ‘for the good of morale’, and had tsked over the state of the food he’d been given. Kaladin had forced himself through a handful of bites then, and now Rock was feeding him at every given opportunity.

On the third day, Adolin came to see him. He sat down, and took Kaladin’s hand. He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles, the motion slow and repetitive. Kaladin eventually looked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Adolin said simply. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Kaladin opened his mouth, and coughed as he found himself wanting to speak for the first time since he’d returned to Urithiru. Adolin immediately brought him a glass of water, and helped him sit up. Kaladin drank slowly, and held up one finger.

Adolin kept his silence, watching him with concern, until Kaladin was ready.

“Why are _you_ apologizing to _me?”_ Kaladin asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “He was your cousin, your king. _I’m_ the one who failed _you. I_ failed your father. _I_ was supposed to protect him and I couldn’t.”

“You did everything you could but in the end, we still lost,” Adolin said softly. “Not just you, everyone. We lost the city, the queen was being controlled by some... _thing,_ and we have one less ally than we thought we did. It wasn’t easy for anyone. It’s harder on you, though, isn’t it? Because of how you are.”

“You’re such an idiot, Princeling,” Kaladin whispered, and leaned against his shoulder. “Of all the people you could be talking to, you came to comfort _me._ You should be with your father and the rest of your family.”

“You’re part of ‘the rest of my family’, in case you’d forgotten.” Adolin cupped his cheek and lifted his head a little. Kaladin sighed, resigned in a way, then leaned in to kiss him softly. Adolin kissed him back, and for all Adolin was right, and for all it all hurt... he smiled. “If you’re up to it, I’d like you to be at the funeral. We won’t... be able to soulcast him the way we would back at home, but we can at least take care of him.”

“You invite me to all the nicest places,” Kaladin said lightly. “Though it couldn’t be worse than post-jail seduction.”

“It’s all about opportunity,” Adolin said, and squeezed him gently. “Though, speaking of post-jail, you need a good strong scrub before seeing anyone.”

“Thank you for reminding me that I have depression stink, I’d quite forgotten,” Kaladin said dryly, and pushed at him. “Let me up, oaf.”

“As you command, oh Captain, my Captain,” Adolin said and let Kaladin go. It took a moment for Kaladin to pull away from Adolin, and several moments longer for him to actually stand. He shed the blankets around him, walked towards where the tub was sitting, and turned on the water.

“I’m not going to drown myself in the bathtub, you know,” Kaladin said as he let the water run. “I’m pretty sure it’s the Fourth Ideal. ‘Don’t commit suicide in a stupid way.’”

“I’m here because I like seeing you naked,” Adolin said cheerfully. “And I’m going to pick through your wardrobe until I find you something nice to wear.”

“...it’s going to be my uniform,” Kaladin said, though his lips tugged up in a smile. “Because that’s what I always wear. I’m a Captain, and the Way of Kings requires officers to be ready to be on duty at any moment.”

“I hadn’t realized you were a fashion expert too,” Adolin said, and Kaladin laughed. He peeked over his shoulder to see Adolin grinning broadly, as though he’d gotten away with something brilliant. “There it is. You’re getting better at that.”

“What, laughing?” Kaladin said, and stripped off his shirt, then trousers, before bending to check the water temperature against his wrist. “I’ve laughed before. I’ve laughed at you.”

“Well, I did know I was hilarious,” Adolin said, rolling into the jibe as though it had been a great compliment. “But you still don’t laugh enough. Your Syl knows that just as well as I do.”

“She’s her own Syl, aside from the bond,” Kaladin said, and waited a little longer, leaning against the bath. “I need to apologize to her, again. I... she was with me the whole time, though I don’t know if she left me.”

“She won’t have, she’s likely off doing spren things,” Adolin said, admiring Kaladin’s pose. “The two of you have been through so much. I know it’s not an easy thing to manage, but she won’t leave you if you don’t leave her. I have faith.”

“You barely have faith in the Almighty,” Kaladin pointed out, then got into the tub, and sighed softly. “I’m always amazed you were never bonded. Practically your whole family has but not you.”

“I can’t say I haven’t envied your gift from time to time,” Adolin said, “but it might just be that I’m not worthy of it. That my fate is for other things, assuming you believe much in fate.”

“Perhaps...” Kaladin said, and picked at the cake of soap. “You do know that we’re all broken, don’t you? The Knights Radiant. Your father, your brother. Shallan, Jasnah... me. Some part of us is missing and we needed a spren to fill the gaps, like filling in the cracks in a building with clay to keep it from collapsing entirely. Maybe the reason you’re not a Radiant is because you’re _whole.”_

“...not as whole as I’d like,” Adolin murmured, and Kaladin looked at him sharply. “Nothing, it’s nothing. You might very well be right. I have my Shardblade and my Shardplate, and that will just need to be enough.”

“You’ll also have _me,”_ Kaladin said, his features serious. _“That_ will be enough.”

Adolin put his hand over his heart, and got up, poking through Kaladin’s wardrobe. “I’m glad you feel like you can be enough for me, and not worry that you’ll fail me.”

Kaladin paused, letting the words sink in, not quite as sacred as the Ideals but close. _If I can trust myself to take care of Adolin -- and Shallan, someday -- can I believe I didn’t fail Elhokar? Will that faith be enough to carry me through?_

“Don’t have such deep thoughts that you fall asleep,” Adolin called, moving back and forth on the other side of the room. “Then I’ll have to explain how it happened to my father. He might demote me to chullkeep.”

“No one has ever drowned in the tub because of _thinking,”_ Kaladin pointed out. “Not that you would know, you haven’t had a deep thought in your life.”

“It’s true, I’m as shallow as a mirror,” Adolin said cheerfully. Kaladin shook his head, and his smile didn’t quite leave his lips. “Which means you need to admire me and--”

Kaladin’s gaze snapped to him, half-rising from the tub as the abrupt silence stretched. Adolin had frozen in place, the clothing he had gathered half tumbled onto the floor. _Syl, if you’re still there--_

 _Oh, Kaladin, I’m always here,_ his spren said, appearing in midair. _I was just giving you two some time alone... nice butt._

Kaladin sat, abruptly. _What’s wrong with him?_

 _Utterly captivated by his own reflection?_ Syl guessed, and flitted around Adolin. _Actually, he really might be. He’s just... staring at nothing._

“Adolin?” Kaladin called, quiet and urgent. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I... it’s nothing,” Adolin said. “I just thought I saw something, that’s all. In the mirror. A strange face.”

“The King used to complain about that too,” Kaladin said. “...but given all that we know, do you mind if Syl takes a look? You _can_ sense other spren, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” Syl said aloud, startling Adolin slightly. “I didn’t sense anything, and I don’t see anything. Are you sure it’s not _your_ face? Do you want me to check?”

“No... no.” Adolin took a deep breath, and ran one hand through his blond and black hair. “It’s fine. Let me just pick this up, so Kaladin can be decent, before--”

The door slammed open. “Is everything alright?! Is Kaladin-- oh.”

“Hello, Brightlady Davar,” Kaladin muttered while Shallan’s cheeks flamed crimson. “Don’t you knock?”

“Almighty take me now,” Shallan whispered. “I’ll come back.”

With that, Shallan closed the door, and Kaladin sighed heavily, and waited for Adolin to laugh or tease him. Instead, he was silent, too deep in his thoughts to properly acknowledge what had happened.

“...I was talking to Pattern before you called for me,” Syl said apologetically. “When I disappeared, they likely became worried.”

“Wonderful,” Kaladin muttered, and sank further into the tub. “Just wonderful.”

_Shallan == > Pretend You Didn’t Just See That _

_What is it, Shallan?_ Pattern asked urgently. _Was Kaladin harmed? You are very red._

 _No,_ Shallan thought, pressing her hands to her cheeks, and tried to calm down. _I just saw something I shouldn’t have, that’s all._

 _Oh,_ Pattern said. _Were they mating? Sylphrena should be their chaperone, if they are not supposed to be mating._

 _They weren’t mating!_ Shallan thought, and hurried away. _Not this time, but it’s still... awkward. Whatever it was, I’m sure they’ll tell me later when they aren’t... busy._

 _Very well, if you insist,_ Pattern said. _In any case, we should--_

Shallan’s shoulder collided with Renarin’s, and she winced. Renarin, entirely absorbed in his thoughts, started.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing away towards the wall. “Do you know where Adolin is, I’m trying to find him.”

“He’s... with Kaladin,” Shallan said, and Renarin nodded once in understanding. “What’s wrong, aside from... everything else.”

“I need to give him something,” Renarin said. “Though, I have something for you too, I was going to leave it near your room.”

“You do?” Shallan asked. “What is it?”

Renarin sorted through the papers clutched in his hands, and handed Shallan one. “Here you go.”

 _I’m really not used to him reading yet,_ Shallan said, and unfolded the paper. “You are cordially invited to play a game? Renarin, I’m not certain this is the time to--”

“It’s important,” Renarin said, his voice soft. “It’s... I saw something. It was from the Almighty, I think. We need to do this, it could change everything. We could finally win the war. I need you to convince Kaladin to do this. I know he’s taken the King’s death hard -- so has Aunt Navani, and Jasnah -- but we can’t give up. Not today, and not ever.”

“Renarin...” Shallan touched over her heart. “I’ll try, but are you sure you shouldn’t be talking to Adolin about this, or even Kaladin yourself? We get along these days, but only barely.”

“I’m going to need to convince Adolin myself, but Kaladin will listen to you,” Renarin insisted. “It’s going to get very complicated. There are a lot of moving parts, like Urithiru itself. There’s a specific order for the way things need to be done.”

“Specific order? Renarin, didn’t you just See this?” Shallan asked. “How much do you have planned?”

“I... it’s... it’s all in the notes for each of you. Please, Shallan. I need your help with this.”

Shallan took a deep breath and considered. Minds, half-hers and half-other, floated in her mind, though she shied away from Veil. “Of course I’ll help you, Renarin. Just let me give Kaladin and Adolin some time, and I’ll go and talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Renarin said, then hesitated. “Does it bother you what they’re doing? Since you and Adolin are betrothed, that is.”

Conflicting feelings crowded in around Shallan’s thoughts: she cared for Adolin; what had begun as the last hope her brothers had to not be thrown from their ancestral home or killed had transformed into something genuine. Part of her cared for Kaladin, admiring his dark, brooding looks and was delighted by his brusque manners and short temper. Part of her disliked him for the same reasons. Still other parts of her admired his capabilities as a Knight Radiant.

None of her quite knew how to feel about the fact that Adolin and Kaladin were lovers; outside of the protocol she _had_ to follow. No wedding, no contracts, nothing but how they felt about one another and how they expressed it. Somedays, it felt unfair.

“It’s complicated,” Shallan said finally, as the silence stretched. “Excuse me.”

_Eshonai == > Learn Something New About Yourself _

Traveling across the Shattered Plains had never been ideal. With warform, however, it was simple enough to leap from place to place. It had been one of the weaknesses of the Alethi. They had required their bridges, which had set the tenor of the war for years.

Eshonai, forced to walk as humans did, healing slowly from her injuries, hummed Determination as she walked, and Irritation when she was forced to rest, sheltering from subsequent highstorms, like the one that howled and battered outside her shelter now.

 _At this rate, I’ll never catch up to Venli,_ she thought grimly, even as she settled down to sleep. _She needs to know I’m alive. She needs to know that we’re being used by the Voidbringers as surely as the Alethi are._

When she closed her eyes, she dreamed of a gold city, unlike anything she had seen before in her waking hours. The Alethi did not live in such places, nor did the Listeners. There were tall spires that stretched towards the sky, gold and bright, with soft, white clouds drifting across the blue sky as though they had no cares in the world. It had taken days to realize that the place where she was was not one celestial body, but two, a planet and a moon, bound together by an enormous chain.

On the small moon there were five other towers, each with a sleeping human inside, save one. She had poked and jabbed at each of them a time or two, curious about their forms, all so soft, and yet so effective at making war against the Listeners.

It was in visiting them that she realized she could fly here instead of remaining groundbound, and on her way back to her tower that she realized that if she could fly _here,_ she might be able to fly along the chain down to the planetoid.

 _It’s... breathtaking,_ Eshonai had to admit to herself as she skimmed along the chain’s curve. _I’ve never felt like this before. There is something incredible about true flight._

As she approached the planetoid, she could see that the gold buildings were different here, vast structures that seemed to fill the horizon, but none of them as remarkable or large as the towers. She landed at the anchor point, coming to rest on an upraised platform, and looked back.

The towers, arrayed across the moonlet, made it look like the child’s drawing of a star, and Eshonai wondered about that too.

“You’re here,” she heard from behind her, and stiffened. She turned towards the voice, and saw that it was someone who was almost, but not quite, normal. They had a carapace, as she did, but they were stark white, and their features were plain to the point of blandness, as though formed from clay by a child. “The Thief is here.”

“I’m no thief,” Eshonai said, wary. “I simply woke up here, I--”

“The Thief is awake!” the white thing cried. “Everyone! Look, the Thief is awake! Just as the Queen said!”

All around them, more white creatures, clad in simple pieces of cloth with brightly coloured patterns, raised their heads and, upon seeing Eshonai, hurried over. Eshonai flexed her arms, and began to hum Intimidation, though the creatures seemed to ignore that entirely, instead reaching for her, touching her with long, thin pointed fingers with odd joints.

“You’re here, we’re so happy!” they cried, leaving Eshonai utterly baffled. “Come with us and see the Queen!”

“I... what are you?” Eshonai demanded. “What do you want?”

“Why... we want you to help us, of course,” said the one who had first spoken to her. “To protect us during the war. You and your companion.”

“What war, what--” Something moved out of the corner of her eye, a patch of darkness that did not belong in a place of light. “Companion. Show yourself!”

The shadow peeled itself from the ground and rose into a small, shifting form. _Hello, Eshonai. I had hoped you would have noticed me sooner, but I suppose this is as good a place as any. Will you do it? Will you help these people with their war?_

“What... are you?” Eshonai asked, her mind churning. “Tell me!”

 _You already know,_ the shadow said. _I have always been a part of you, ever since the lightone left. You know what I am, so name me._

“Spren,” Eshonai whispered. “You’re an ashspren.”


	3. Blackmar-Diemer Gambit

_Dalinar == > Grieve _

Outside, the Everstorm rattled Urithiru, raging and weeping as though lamenting a life lost and in his rooms, Dalinar Kholin grieved with it. Piece by piece, Gavilar and his legacy were being torn away from Roshar like a plant being ripped away from the rocks by a vicious wind.

 _This is my fault,_ Dalinar thought miserably, drinking heavily from a cup of sapphire wine. _I shouldn’t have agreed to let him go with them. I shouldn’t have..._

But Elhokar was trying to be different -- to be _better --_ after the earlier attempts on his life. On the one that he’d faked, and the one that was all too real. Where there was weakness, now there was strength, or so Dalinar had hoped.

 _I wanted him to be a great king like his father, and now... now both of them are gone._ Grief threatened to overwhelm him, to drag him down into the mire. He wasn’t alone in his pain either: Kaladin had confined himself to his rooms. Jasnah had been angry, her tone more cutting and her tongue more barbed than it had been before. Navani... _Have I even looked in on Navani? I should be with her, I should..._

He had failed Navani just as he had failed his first wife, failed _Evi,_ and the shame was killing him.

Dalinar lifted the goblet and began to drink again, letting the sapphire overwhelm him, hoping for it to pull him under the ocean of oblivion for just a little while.

He heard a sound -- the door, opening and then closing -- and ignored it. If there really was an assassin, this time, he didn’t much care.

“Oh... Dalinar,” he heard, and raised his eyes. There was his wife, a vision of beauty even with eyes reddened by weeping, standing before him. “Not again.”

“Navani...” Dalinar breathed, and the scent of wine filled the air between them. “I’m--”

“This has to stop,” Navani began, and snatched the goblet from his hand. “You can’t deal with your problems by hiding behind alcohol or violence! We have lost--” Her voice caught, and she forced it to firm. “--we have lost our King. You have lost a nephew, and I, a _son._ We risk losing everything if we can’t hold ourselves together, even if we must do it by the fingertips. I need you to be with me in this, Dalinar. I need you to be the Bondsmith.”

He took a shuddering breath and his fingers closed briefly on nothing. Navani’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I can’t.”

“I say that you can, that you must! Elhokar was _my_ son!” Navani cried. “Mine! I lost my husband. I thought I lost my daughter. I have lost my son and my grandson! We don’t all have the luxury of forgetting the things that hurt us the most! You took oaths, husband mine, oaths! To me, to your spren! Life before death! Strength before weakness! Journey before destination! That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

Dalinar stared at her, silent and stunned. It wasn’t as though she was meek and mild on a daily basis; far from it, Navani had always been bold, but this... this was something new. Her fingers tightened around the goblet and under her grip the stem seemed to warp.

“I know that Evi’s death was hard on you.” Dalinar flinched, even as her tone gentled a little. “I know that Gavilar’s death was hard on you, but we _went to war_ because of it. You and the rest of the Highprinces made countless other widows, left thousands of children fatherless, or sometimes motherless, and you sit here drinking as though you’re the only one who’s ever lost someone. We _need_ you. _I_ need you. We all need you to focus, to _lead._ For the Almighty’s sake, Dalinar, the _world_ is ending!”

“Navani--”

“Stand up,” Navani ordered. “Drink some water, sober yourself up. Stand where others won’t, or _I_ will, and your chance at being king will be over.”

Dalinar searched her face, gaze roaming over a woman who, in mourning, was stronger than he had ever been. Her fingers were dark as night, and when the goblet cracked in half, she was more surprised than he was.

“What--”

“My love,” Dalinar began, and forced himself to stand, to focus on _her_ and what _she_ needed. “Do you know what the first Words of the Stonewards are?”

“I do, I’ve read all the texts, it’s--” Navani paused, and all of her anger drained out of her. “I will stand where others fall.”

“That leaves, I believe, only one Radiant type left,” he said. “The Willshapers, if you’re to be the first of the new Stonewards.”

“I didn’t... I haven’t...” Navani stared at her hand. “I’m a Radiant?”

“So it would seem,” Dalinar said. “Do you know who your spren is? Have they spoken to you?”

“I...” Navani paused, and for a moment, all doubt fled him as his beloved wife set the mangled goblet down and cradled her hand to her chest in curious wonder. “No, I’ve heard nothing, seen no faces. No little invisible voice urging me onwards. I am who I have always been.”

“Then perhaps, your spren has always been a part of you,” Dalinar said. “Look at your hands, gemheart. Look at your _hands.”_

Navani looked down at the hand that had gripped the goblet, then towards her safe hand. She fumbled briefly with the clasp that kept it hidden. Dalinar stepped forward, undoing it expertly.

“Thank you,” Navani said. “I need to see if they’re... identical.”

“I understand,” Dalinar said. “Go ahead, we’re alone here.”

She nodded, and peeled back her sleeve, rolling it to her elbow and made a soft noise. It was as though both of her hands had been dipped deeply into a large inkwell, and while still human, they were so deep a purple that they seemed black, and her nails were purple, tipped with gold. She opened and closed her hands curiously.

“This feels... actually, it doesn’t feel like anything,” Navani admitted. “This is so curious, but now I have so many things to try.”

“It’s strange that your spren isn’t reacting in any way,” Dalinar said, studying her with great curiosity, his grief and his drinking abruptly forgotten in the face of such a revelation. “I know that each one is different -- the Stormfather refuses to be a weapon for me, as an example -- but this is unusual.”

 _I AM ALREADY A WEAPON,_ the Stormfather said, his tone as smug as it was possible to be, given his nature. _I SIMPLY REFUSE TO BE ANYTHING AS LIMITING AS A SWORD OR A SPEAR._

“Let me guess, he just doesn’t want to be a sword?” Navani said, smiling slightly, and flexed her hands again. “Has he ever heard of anything like this before?”

_NO, I HAVE NOT. IS THIS COMMONPLACE FOR MORTALS?_

“No,” Dalinar said, answering them both. “But you’re a scholar, and I’ve been known to have useful advice from time to time. Perhaps we can figure it out together.”

  
_Navani == > Stand Where Others Fall_

“Perhaps,” Navani said. “Though, whatever’s happened, it’s destroyed my painrial. Look, it’s completely gone.”

Dalinar took her hand and inspected it, then ran two fingers along her arm, as carefully as though he was examining a piece of artwork or a bolt of silk. The sensation was delightful, and she felt it no more or less acutely than she had before. She shivered in pleasure.

 _Focus,_ she told herself sternly. _This is no time to get distracted._

A stab of pain moved through her wrist, and she jerked her hand away from Dalinar, who looked at her curiously. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t, I just...” Navani stopped, and stared at her wrist. “...think I’ve figured something out.”

“Tell me,” Dalinar said. “Anything that you need. You were right before that I’m needed. My wife needs me.”

Navani smiled at him warmly, and let the sensation suffuse her being. _Now then, let’s see if that works. I need to focus. I can’t get distra--_

The pain came again, creasing her features. Dalinar watched her expression, worried.

“Do you recall how painrials work?” Navani asked, gripping onto the idea with both hands. “That they cause a small amount of harm to bring your attention to something. It’s an alarm, a reminder system.”

“Yes, of course I do,” Dalinar said, and then his eyes widened. “So, that means you’re in pain when you need to focus on something?”

“Yes,” Navani said, taking a breath, then two. “But I’m not wearing my painrial, it’s gone.”

“Unless it’s _not_ gone,” Dalinar said slowly. “Unless it now exists in your mind, or as a part of you, to help bring you clarity.”

“You’re telling me,” Navani said slowly, raising one eyebrow, “that I’ve somehow absorbed my painrial? So I can hurt myself to focus?”

Dalinar held up his hands in surrender. “It is a theory, that’s all.”

“Theories require--” Navani paused, staring at his arms. “You’re wearing _your_ painrial, aren’t you? Show me, right now.”

Dalinar held out his arm and Navani ran her fingers along it, then examined the device. It seemed strange, different than what she was expecting. She prodded at it lightly. “What is it?”

“This is the one _I_ gave you, isn’t it?” Navani asked. “You never found another one? No one ever offered you one as a gift. Jasnah, perhaps?”

“No, I wouldn’t... this is the gift from you, why else would I wear it?” Dalinar asked. “Why?”

“Because mine didn’t look like this at all,” Navani said. “I’m not Shallan, but let me...”

Quickly, Navani found a piece of charcoal and some paper and began to draw. She was not as skilled as her future daughter-in-law, but she could draw lines, straight or curved, and did so, sketching until she had an approximation of her missing painrial.

The design was far more elaborate than the one Dalinar wore on his wrist, and at first, the reason why seemed obvious: artifabrials were her passion and she always had some new device to try. Even seeing her sketch of the device she remembered soothed her, made her feel more comfortable.

 _That’s all there is to it, isn’t there?_ Navani asked herself as she pressed her fingers lightly to the paper. _But if that’s the case... why can I not remember that happening? Why can I not remember the changes I made to my own device? When did I do it, how did I change an established device?_

“My love...” Dalinar’s voice was hesitant, soft. Uncertain. It almost made her snap at him to be the man she _knew_ he could be until she followed her gaze down to the drawing and then, to her arm.

Some of the darkness on her fingertips was pooling on the page, moving smoothly into the lines she had drawn on the paper. Her fingernails winked with gold.

“I think,” Navani said shakily, “that I know where it went. Hello, little one. Who might you be?”

 _I’m glad you’ve finally noticed me. I didn’t want to say anything until you were ready,_ the drawing said in her mind. _My name is Wine._

“Wine?” Navani repeated, trying not to feel slightly hysterical. “Why Wine?”

 _It’s because of my shade, does that not make sense?_ the drawing said. _I’m sorry, I’ll try something else. Aubergine, or mulberry, or--_

“No, no,” Navani said. “Wine is a fine name. May I ask... what kind of spren are you?”

 _I thought that it was obvious... but I am a painspren,_ Wine said. _I help bring focus and clarity, and am proof of the strength of mortals. Only the Stonewards have ever been sturdy enough to bond with us._

Abruptly, Navani sat down, and reached for the bottle Dalinar had abandoned. She knocked it back and began to drink. _This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard... Stonewards bonding to painspren, and I... I am drinking because I don’t want to face an unpleasant truth._

“Navani..?” Dalinar asked, his voice pitched for concern. He reached out a hand to her. “What did your spren say?”

It was all too much at once, and Navani began to laugh, the sound edged in raw hysteria. The only thing that made her want to quiet was to drink again, and so she did.

  
_Lift == > Be Awesome_

Lift scowled up at the sky. “Please, I’m _always_ awesome.”

 _Lift, don’t get distracted,_ Wyndle said, his form a handful of vines creeping along the floor. _We must read and understand these instructions before the Reckoning comes._

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Voidbringer?” Lift asked and chewed on a crusty piece of bread, sighing happily. “Don’t know who decided to put butter and garlic on bread, but they deserve to be the next king of Roshar.”

 _Lift, please,_ Wyndle said. _Now, look at this. It says “You are cordially invited to play a game. The fate of Roshar depends on it. I have sent you three crystals, each of which you will need to activate and attune to, but then you will need to wait until it’s time for you to assist someone enter into a special place where the game will take place. Then, someone else will assist you to enter, and you will go to a special place as well. Thus, everyone participating will join the game in a chain._ ”

“That doesn’t sound much like the games I know,” Lift said, and drank deeply from a cup of orange wine. “Where’s the chasing each other around with sticks? Where’re the hoops?”

 _The fate of the world doesn’t depend on your skill with a stick and a hoop,_ Wyndle said. _It also recommends that you set aside a room or a small home that has a number of items you would like to have access to. It recommends food, clothing, and various simple tools._

“Yup, that’s why we’re here,” Lift says. “You know I read the whole letter, right?”

 _I thought we were here because you wanted to live in a house full of garlic bread,_ Wyndle said.

“That too,” Lift agreed. “Hey, do you know who sent this?”

 _I... no, not exactly,_ Wyndle said. _It is an anonymous message, though whomever wrote it did so in glyph pairs-- wait, what do you_ mean _you read the whole letter? I thought you said you couldn’t read it?_

“I said that I wanted _you_ to read it,” Lift said. “Of course I can read it, why wouldn’t I? I’ve read books before.”

 _Not in Alethi glyph-pairs!_ Wyndle protested. _How could you-- wait just a moment. A man had to have written this, there’s no reason for a woman to use this style of script, and whoever wrote it would likely be upper-class. This is someone practiced with writing, though. One of their Ardents, perhaps? Or--_

“It’s one of the fancy-pants Kholins,” Lift said, tearing off another piece of garlic bread and eating it. “Probably not the sword one, so I’d guess the quiet one.”

 _Renarin?_ Wyndle asked. _That makes sense-- Lift, did you figure out all of that entirely on your own?_

“Well, yeah,” Lift said. “Isn’t it obvious? You should pay attention more.”

Wyndle’s shadow moved briefly, forming a pair of fingers to pinch a nose that didn’t exist. _Of course, I’ll remember that for next time. So, we have everything figured out-- I assume you’re picking this place for your home? Even though it isn’t yours._

“‘Course, how else can I be awesome otherwise?” Lift asked. “D’you know what’s going on with this game? As a Voidbringer, of course.”

 _I’m not a-- you’re doing that to distract me, aren’t you?_ Wyndle asked plaintively. _So that I don’t try to make you take things more seriously. Is that it? Is that why you torment me so?_

“Yup,” Lift said, grinning. “So, what do you know about the game?”

 _Not much,_ Wyndle said, nettled. _I have not heard Cultivation’s voice in a long time, but I believe this is something of her creation. It is a game about growth, struggle, and discovery. Those who are chosen are people who need to learn things about themselves to become greater people... to grow up._

“I’m not supposed to change,” Lift said, scowling. “The Nightmother promised me I wouldn’t have to, so maybe I just won’t play.”

 _There is nothing that exists without changing,_ Wyndle said, his voice soft, gentle with the hope of comfort. _I’m sorry but it’s true. I know that you wanted to stay the same forever but you’ll find that you can’t exist like that. You change when you learn new things, experience new things. You change when outer forces act on you. Even a building will wear down with enough rain. Even the ocean changes shape as the land does. Even the stars in the sky go out eventually, if you’re watching at the right time._

“No!” Lift cried, and tilted her head upwards. Her hands balled into fists. “I don’t want to play! Take me out of the game!”

 _I’m quite sorry, please let me try again,_ Wyndle said. He rose from the floor, instead moving over Lift, wrapping the long, spindly vines of his form around her in an embrace. _Lift, I know that you’re frightened of changing, but the best parts of you don’t have to change. There are people who may come to live in different places, speak different languages, dress differently, look differently... but at their very core, they are who they_ are. _You don’t have to be afraid that you won’t be Lift any more. Game or no game._

Lift tucked her chin down and sighed out Stormlight. “I don’t know if I like it, but... why do we need to play this game? Not what’ll happen... _why_ are we playing it?”

 _To save Roshar,_ Wyndle said. _To save all of creation. Just a little snip and trim and everything will be well again. No more Voidbringers, no more Odium. Humanity and Listeners alike will be safe._

“I guess...” Lift sniffed a little. “I guess that’s pretty awesome.”

 _It is,_ Wyndle promised. _It’s the most awesome thing you will ever do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was named after one of the many, many opening moves for chess, and picked because it kind of sounded like Blackthorn and Dalinar.


	4. Halosar Trap

_== > Elhokar: Dream _

Elhokar knew that he was dreaming because he was dead.

In the dream, he was ten years old again, hiding from his sister Jasnah in his mother’s apartments. There were devices everywhere, delicate things that he was terrified of breaking, lest he bring Navani’s wrath down upon him. Jasnah didn’t seem to care, stomping as she was like a giant all over the place, demanding to know where he was, not wanting to play the game.

 _All I have to do is stay hidden, and she can’t find me,_ Elhokar thought. _If she can’t find me, she can’t catch me, then I’ll be safe._

A headache bloomed behind his eye, flaring as suddenly as a flame. He pressed his palm to his head, trying to fight back the pain. This was absurd. Jasnah was eight years his elder, she’d never played with him like this. Not once she was old enough to become a scholar, to look at Navani with a pity that bordered on condescension. Not once she and Gavilar had argued one too many times, and she’d told him she wished Dalinar had fathered her instead of him.

That was the day Elhokar had hidden in his mother’s rooms, trying to pretend that his world wasn’t falling to tiny pieces all around him.

 _Lie to me,_ a voice whispered, and the shadows danced around him. Elhokar stiffened, and pressed himself back against the wall. _Please, lie to me, it’s so delicious, so wonderful to taste._

 _My parents love each other,_ Elhokar thought, his fingers digging into his forehead. _My sister is happy to be a scholar and to be overlooked as heir. I want to be king. I’m excited to be king._

 _Good,_ the voice whispered, sounding pleased, buzzing like the droning of insects. _Delicious lies. Now I would like some truth, please._

 _You want me to tell you the truth about something?_ Elhokar thought, confused, and disbelieving at the same time. _I thought you wanted lies._

 _I need to taste the difference between them,_ the voice said. _Go on. Tell me the truth._

 _I..._ Elhokar coughed, and blood spattered along the floor. He drew his palm away from his face, and saw the blood on it, wet and dark. _I’m dead. A man who hated me killed me. I deserved it. I--_

 _A lie,_ the voice snapped. _The truth only!_

 _I was changing when I died,_ Elhokar said. _I saw how I wanted to be and knew that I wasn’t that man, that king. I wanted to be better than who I was, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t understand how. I was a bad king, and I’m sorry. I hurt so many people but I can’t hurt anyone anymore because Moash killed me._

 _Truths,_ the voice said, sounding satisfied. _What are you going to do about your truths and your lies?_

 _I don’t know,_ Elhokar thought, slumping back. _I’m dead, it doesn’t matter what I do._

_A truth and a lie, can you guess which is which?_

_The truth is that I’m dead,_ Elhokar said. _Which means the lie is that what I do doesn’t matter, but I don’t see how. Why would the things I do after death matter?_

 _I will answer a question with another question,_ the voice said. _Did you live forever?_

 _No, of course not,_ Elhokar thought, his brow wrinkling, though that made his head hurt more. Being stabbed in the brain was not conducive towards thinking clearly. _I’m very clearly not immortal._

 _Well, then will you stay dead forever?_ the voice asked. _If you did not stay alive forever._

 _That logic doesn’t follow,_ Elhokar thought, trying to push himself up with one heel. The blood underneath him made the carpeting tacky and uncomfortable. _You can live a little while, but then be dead for eternity. The time you’re dead is only outmatched by the time you didn’t exist._

 _Then did you really exist at all?_ the voice asked. _Were you ever really alive?_

“Of course I was!” Elhokar cried. “I lived! I changed people’s lives, mostly for the worse! I married a woman who wouldn’t love my people the way I needed her to. I left my son by going off to play at war when I should have been there to raise him instead of repeating my father’s mistakes! It should have been my sister ruling all along. At least... at least I was able to make my mother happy before I died.”

 _Lies, and truths, all woven together,_ the voice said. _Your mother mourns you. Your uncle-father does too. Your friends--_

“Oh, what friends?” Elhokar muttered aloud, and forced himself to stand. _I’ve had enough of floors, and apparently if I can’t be at peace while dead, I might as well stop with this farce._

 _The one that delayed your death,_ the voice said. _The one you wanted to emulate. The one called ‘bridgeboy’._

“Kaladin? My friend?” Elhokar asked, and paused. He leaned heavily on the desk, leaving a bloody handprint. “He’s probably upset because I have added to the pile of people he feels guilty about not saving. I am not so special in that regard.”

 _Truth... and lies,_ the voice said, waver-buzzing. _Half-true. He is very good at feeling guilty about not-saving people, but it is not the only reason he is sad. You were changing._

“I wanted to be different but I couldn’t change soon enough,” Elhokar said, and limped along, through his mother’s collection and into her room. The dream was beginning to fade, and much of what he saw was translucent, and he could see past the floor and into the abyss. “I was too late to stop from hurting more people. Too late for Aesudan and Moash. Too late to stop my son’s heart from breaking.”

 _Lies,_ the voice said. _Ask_ him _if he can change._

“Him..?” Elhokar turned, trying to see who the voice could be talking about. The room seemed void of people, his parents’ voices and Jasnah’s stomping long faded away. Instead, he saw something far worse than a person.

A mirror.

 _Look,_ the voice said. _Gaze into it, tell me what you see._

Elhokar stared at the mirror and somehow he could see his own image, captured as though he stood in front of it. He saw a ten year old, frightened and hiding. He saw a young man, distracted by politics, becoming a king. He saw a father, cradling his precious child in his arms, vowing to be better to his son than his father was to him.

He saw the ruin of a man who had died because he’d ruined the lives of innocent people.

“Change,” Elhokar demanded. “Change, damn you! Change before everything goes to Damnation!”

A figure slid into view next to him, a cloak without a body to wear it, a set of whirling shapes where a head should be. Elhokar’s eyes widened.

“You’re what I kept seeing. A face and a voice, but no body, no substance.” Elhokar turned his head away from the mirror and saw the shadows crawl along the wall, stretching out from his own.

 _I have substance, though not as much here as I would in my home,_ the voice said. _Though, I prefer to be here. Everything is more... interesting, more lively. We’ve been together for a long time, Elhokar Kholin. You just don’t remember._

Elhokar closed his eyes, and remembered.

Around him, the dream began again, as he played hide and seek with his older sister, and tried to pretend his parents loved each other.

_== > Jasnah: Be Angry _

Anger took many forms. Some shouted, others smashed or broke things. There was more than enough temper in her family for her to come by it honestly, but where Dalinar might have been fiery, she was coldly furious.

There was rage deep inside her, bubbling up through her chest, and she didn’t have the words to describe it.

 _Elhokar,_ she thought spitefully, _deserved to live._

Jasnah paced her room, her steps far from the elegant movements she made when others were watching. In her youth, her steps had been heavy, pounding things, and she had wanted to make a mark on the world that seemed determined to ignore that she existed.

She’d frightened Elhokar once, storming around like she was the Blackthorn, and she wondered if he’d ever remembered _that_ particular incident. He’d been so young then, still small enough to scoop into her arms and hold. Young enough that she still had comfort left to give.

 _...of course, I think I scared him more trying to soothe him than I did anything else,_ Jasnah thought. _Mother needed to comfort him after that._

She fought the urge to tear apart her perfect hair, to smear her cosmetics into a muddy mask, to strip herself bare of the elegant clothing she wore unceasingly and just be _ugly_ for once in her life.

 _They call me a heretic, but I’m a_ pretty _heretic, so at least they listen,_ Jasnah thought. _I awe prospective apprentices, friends, and enemies by being ‘elegant’ and ‘perfect’... well, to Damnation with it all._

Elhokar had been undone, in the end. No dignity, no regal, kingly manner. Just empty meat with puncture-holes, waiting for disposal. Jasnah grimaced, and ripped one of her hair ornaments out, taking a dozen strands of hair out with it, and threw it to the carpet. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and all that did was make her want more. She tore at her dress, and buttons popped out, scattering across the floor.

Jasnah stepped out of the pool of discarded material and went to the wash basin and began to scrub angrily at her face until she was laid bare.

 _I look tired, and old,_ Jasnah said with some satisfaction. _I’m no Lightweaver to hide behind lies. This is who I am, an aging scholar with a dead brother, a missing nephew, and nowhere to turn to for comfort because I push people away from me._

 _Not me,_ Ivory protested softly. _Never me. I’m close to you now, Jasnah._

“True enough,” Jasnah said, her breath huffing out in a sigh. She pushed away from the basin and began to pace again. “It’s true of everyone else. I have been unfair to my mother and to Shallan. I have been unfair to the wards that came before Shallan. I could have advised Elhokar more near the end, if I hadn’t been looking for truths.”

 _There’s nothing wrong with looking for truths,_ Ivory said. _Unless you’re a cryptic. Especially if you’re a cryptic, they love to play games with truth and lies._

“Isn’t it funny how that turned out for me?” Jasnah asked, and shook her head. “There was so much that I didn’t understand. There are things I still don’t understand.”

 _We’ll find those things, I promise,_ Ivory thought. _You’re clever and wise._

“I’m naked.”

 _There are clever and wise people who are naked,_ Ivory said. _Like when Kaladin and--_

“No details, thank you,” Jasnah said, and laughed shortly. “I wonder how Shallan feels about that.”

_Well, according to Pattern--_

“Jasnah?” called a voice from outside, and Jasnah’s head snapped up. “I just wanted to know if you wanted someone to talk to, cousin-mine.”

“Speak of the Voidbringer...” Jasnah muttered, and looked about the room. It was something of a mess, her clothes scattered. She selected a robe and pulled it on, tying it firmly before going to the door. “I’m not precisely in a social mood, but come in, I suppose.”

Adolin smiled at her brightly, and stepped inside. He glanced around the room, taking in her dress on the floor, her hair ornaments on the table, and her face. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I did want you to know that Kaladin is recovering, and Shallan is doing well. Father and Aunt Navani are together, and Renarin is being clever and mysterious... so I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” Jasnah said, trying not to sound clipped. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Of course,” Adolin said. “But what if _I’m_ not.”

_== > Adolin: Try Not To Panic _

“And here I thought you were never distemperate,” Jasnah said, and gestured for him to step inside, kicking at the dress with a trifle more force than was necessary.

 _It will take a tailor some time to fix all those buttons, assuming we find them all,_ Adolin thought, and let his gaze fall to the spren at Jasnah’s shoulder. “Hello, Ivory.”

“He says hello back,” Jasnah said, and sighed. “Come on, we’ll use my reading room.”

“It’s true, I haven’t eaten any good books lately,” Adolin said lightly, and Jasnah gazed at him sharply. “I’m joking, I’d never. Bad for the indigestion.”

“You’re deflecting,” Jasnah observed. “Though aren’t we all?”

“Probably,” Adolin said. “I wanted... someone to talk to about things I don’t want to bring to anyone else. They might not understand, or worse, they _will,_ and they’ll tell me I’ve done the right thing, and I don’t think I can take that right now.”

“So you came to talk to me for yourself?” Jasnah said, and shook her head. Without cosmetics, she seemed tireder, more worn. It was comforting, in its way. “Didn’t you ask how _I_ was?”

“I can see how you are,” Adolin said. “You’re angry, but differently than I’ve seen others angry. Different than how I’m angry, even. I didn’t want Elhokar to die any more than you did.”

“I didn’t know him as well as I might have hoped to,” Jasnah said. “The age difference, the difference in interests. He wouldn’t really remember me before I’d changed.”

“Tell me about it,” Adolin encouraged. “We have time to talk about you before we talk about me.”

“Generous of you,” Jasnah said, and she settled in one of the chairs. Adolin sat across from her, watching her expression as her gaze turned inwards. “It happened the same year you were born. Elhokar was three, so he wouldn’t... recall it.”

“Go on,” Adolin encouraged. _I’ve heard rumours, but people stay quiet about the things that make Jasnah seem vulnerable. They don’t like to think she can be._

“When I was eleven, I saw things in the shadows,” Jasnah began. “With the benefit of hindsight, I realize it was an early experience with spren. Ivory, most likely. I was young enough and foolish enough that I told my parents about it, and in turn, they told the ardents. The ardents decided that I needed to be treated.”

 _Just like... actually..._ Adolin sucked in a breath. “The others who are Radiants all saw things at one time or another. Shallan, Renarin, Kaladin... Elhokar. Before he died, he said he’d see things in mirrors.”

Jasnah gave him a sharp look. “Elhokar was going to be a Radiant?”

“Kaladin said he tried to say the words before he died,” Adolin said, leaning forward slightly. “We already know being a Radiant doesn’t make you immortal. Especially if you aren’t a full one.”

“I wonder...” Jasnah glanced off to the side, then back. “Never mind. In any case, to ‘prove’ that there was no danger, I was locked in a room with no light, in the dark, alone. I couldn’t tell you how long, I had no sense of it. All I knew was that it was terrifying, but the ardents were satisfied.”

“...is that why you hate them so much?” Adolin said. “Is that why you’ve never been close to someone?”

“I’m devoted to truth,” Jasnah said. “Even the inconvenient ones, and one of the inconvenient truths is that religion is chull dung and most men are useless.”

Adolin laughed a little, then stopped when Jasnah raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, right. The ardents must have completely missed the meaning of what you were seeing because they didn’t want to think about the Radiants, or spren, or anything else.”

“No, likely not,” Jasnah said. “Now, they will simply have to listen to unpalatable things, or risk being swept away in what’s to come.”

“We all could be,” Adolin said softly. “Does knowing the truth about something -- or someone -- change how you feel about them? Does it shatter your perception of them? Does it... break them in your eyes?”

“I’m not... sure what you mean,” Jasnah said slowly. “Learning the truth about a person does _change_ how I see them, because that part of them is no longer a mystery, the writing in the book is no longer obscured by dirt or debris. That person becomes a clearer, sharper image of themselves.”

“Do you hate them?” Adolin asked. “Do you think other people should hate them?”

“I-- no, not inherently,” Jasnah said. “Adolin, what are you saying? Is this about you? Is this about how others see you?”

 _Yes,_ Adolin thought. “In a sense. I want to tell... someone this, but I fear the news spreading. Can you keep a secret?”

“Arguably, any secret that two people know isn’t a secret, but yes, I will keep yours,” Jasnah said. “What is it?”

“I was the one who killed Torol Sadeas,” Adolin said, letting the words leave him in a rush. He could practically see them in the air, shattered pieces of glass hanging there. “I confronted him in a deserted passageway and I stabbed him, then threw his Shardblade away. I didn’t want it. I never wanted it. I just wanted him _gone._ After all he’d done...”

“Good for you,” Jasnah said, and Adolin blinked at her. “Did you think I was going to condemn you? Me? Of all people? I’ve used Soulcasting on _living people_ Adolin! Don’t you think that’s a little more dishonourable than stabbing someone with an honest blade?”

Laughter bubbled up from Adolin’s lips. “I should have known. You’re my favourite cousin.”

“I’m your _only_ cousin right now,” Jasnah said, and nodded briefly. “So, that’s it then? You came to me to confess to killing a miserable bastard who deserved to die?”

“The rest seems petty in comparison,” Adolin said. “Though given what you’ve said, I really _must_ be imagining the things I’ve been seeing. One of them is a strange creature with a face that’s been scratched out and--”

Jasnah grabbed for Adolin’s wrist. “Tell me everything, right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Halosar Trap is the companion to the Blackmar-Diemer Gambit.


	5. Zwischenzug

_Szeth == > Brood Moodily On A Perilous Rooftop _

_Szeth,_ Nightblood called. _Why are we brooding moodily on a perilous rooftop?_

“I need to think, sword-nimi,” Szeth of the Skybreakers said softly. He looked out over the city, lamps marking each individual building as figures, more shapes than people, walked by. Each one of them a complicated bundle of triumphs and failures, hopes and dreams, nightmares and lives unfulfilled.

 _You can think anywhere,_ Nightblood pointed out. _You can think while fighting evil! Which is what we_ should _be doing right now._

“I do want to fight evil,” Szeth murmured. “I’ve spent too long being controlled by someone else and having my feelings ignored. I’ve been a sword for years, and now I want to be the hand that wields one.”

 _I want to keep being a sword,_ Nightblood said. _I like being a sword. That’s why I was created, to be used. People like you are different. You could be lots of things. A knife, a spoon, a plate._

“A plate?” Szeth asked, looking down at the blade in his hands, wrapped carefully in a metal sheath. “Why a plate?”

 _Probably because you’re solid and dependable, but fragile at the same time,_ Nightblood said. _Possibly a little flat._

“That’s rude, sword-nimi,” Szeth said, but he swallowed back a laugh. He didn’t deserve to laugh. “I don’t think Nale is doing the right thing. I think that killing the Radiants only makes us more vulnerable to their depredations. I think that having Radiants doesn’t make the Voidbringers return, but when they’re returning, more Radiants appear because many won’t survive.”

 _Vasher calls it cause and effect. The cause of the Radiants_ is _the Voidbringers. The Radiants don’t cause the Voidbringers. It’s scientific._

“How much does a sword know about science?” Szeth asked. “Because if it’s a great deal, I would appreciate the tutoring.”

 _Not as much as I’d like,_ Nightblood admitted. _You could ask Vasher or Vivenna. They’re here, you know. Not too far away I think. We had a fight. You know how it is._

“I have absolutely no idea ‘how it is’,” Szeth said. “But perhaps it was a parting of ways over philosophical differences, as it was between Nale and I. I am grateful to him but I cannot follow his path.”

 _That’s about right,_ Nightblood said. _So what path_ are _you going to follow?_

“I have done so much wrong and killed so many people,” Szeth said. “I have been like unto a herald of doom, singing out horror across Alethkar. I need to be something different, something better. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop killing, but at least I could do it in the name of justice instead of in the name of murder.”

 _I’m not sure why you needed to be on a rooftop to figure that out,_ Nightblood said, and Szeth glanced at him sharply. _I’d figured it out ages ago._

“Sometimes, I think you’re being very mischievous, sword-nimi,” Szeth said slowly, shaking his head. “You’re right, this isn’t exactly what I came up here to consider. I came up here to consider the letter I was sent. It was very curious, very... different than what I was expecting to receive. I’m not even sure how it found me.”

 _Magic, I’d bet,_ Nightblood said, considering. _Or fate. Fate is definitely a thing that is real and not made up by people who don’t want to accept the consequences of their actions._

“It’s forbidden to know the future,” Szeth said patiently. “Therefore I cannot know if this is meant to happen or not.”

 _Have you considered that fate isn’t the same as seeing the future?_ Nightblood asked. _Fate is when something is destined to happen and there’s nothing you can do to change it, whether you see it or not. Isn’t it possible that you received your instructions because you were always meant to play this game._

“And what about free will?” Szeth asked. “What about my right to choose?”

 _Your right to choose comes in when the game is played. You’re going to have to figure out a lot of things,_ Nightblood said. _About yourself, about me, about the game itself. It won’t be easy, and you’re going to grow up. It’s a game about growing up, you know. Growing up, and saving the world. Growing up, saving the world, and personal drama--_

“I... understand,” Szeth said, though his head spun. “I am an adult. I am long past ‘growing up’, I would think.”

 _Growing up is really more of a state of mind,_ Nightblood said. _And plenty of people still need to grow up, even if they are adults._

Szeth laughed softly and nodded once. “Very well. I will play this game, sword-nimi, if you will join me in it.”

In the light of three moons, Nightblood seemed to gleam a little brighter. _Of course. I thought you’d never ask._

_Venli == > Question Your Spren _

“What’s going on here?”

The lightspren sat cupped in the Listener’s hands, and for all it didn’t truly have a face, it was certainly staring at her. She could feel it within her, protecting her from the Voidspren she had been given, but she didn’t trust it. Not by a long leap across the chasms.

 _We bonded, Venli,_ the lightspren -- Timbre -- said. _I reside within your gemheart. I can contain the Voidspren within you._

“How?” Venli demanded. “Why?”

_We spren are conceptual beings that represent either tangible or intangible--_

“No,” Venli said, resisting the urge to shake it. “I meant, why _me?_ Why not my sister, the explorer? The dreamer. Why help me and leave her behind?”

 _Your sister had another fate,_ Timbre said, and Venli hummed anger. _But you’ll be able to speak to her soon._

“I... what?” Venli stared at it. “Are you _threatening_ me, spren?”

 _No, no!_ Timbre said. _Not at all, oh I’m doing this all wrong. You’ll be able to communicate with Eshonai soon, I promise. Things are just a little bit complicated._

“Can you explain how it is ‘complicated’, please?” Venli asked. “With less words and more meaning.”

 _You’re being invited to participate in an event that will change the face of Roshar,_ Timbre said. _The whole universe, far beyond what you can see and touch and hear. Eshonai is a part of that. You don’t have to have the nahel bond but it helps, because those who are chosen have a special fate in store for them._

“Can we fight back against the Voidbringers? Can we win?”

 _That depends on you and the people who participate with you,_ Timbre said. _Not every one of these events ends in success... one in three ends in failure._

“How? Why? Can I not choose who participates and who doesn’t?” Venli hummed Concern. “It seems to me that if you want to succeed, you must be discerning with those who are involved.”

 _That isn’t how it works, it’s... there are people whose personalities and skills are suited towards the event in question. They are chosen by an outside force. The participants can’t really make that decision and those that_ do _make that decision don’t actually participate in the event._

“This seems... unnecessarily complicated,” Venli said. “...but Eshonai is a part of it? She lives and breathes? Is she... is she angry at being left on the Shattered Plains?”

 _Yes, she’s been chosen,_ Timbre said. _She’s alive and breathing. I don’t believe she’s angry with you. She wants to see you very much._

“I want to see her too...” Venli considered the lightspren in her hands. “Very well, tell me what I should be doing. I have read the letter but it seems strange.”

 _You need a room that has plenty of space in it, though it should also have your personal items,_ Timbre said. _You’ll also need a creature of some kind, ideally a dead one. When the process starts, three fabrials will appear that you’ll need to attune to. They’ll hold the keys for your doorway into the event. The crystal you have now will allow you to assist someone else._

“My sister, surely,” Venli said. “How many more people are involved in this event?”

_There will be ten others, so twelve in all. One of each Class and each Aspect._

“Class? Aspect?” Venli demanded. “Are they like the human Radiants and their orders? Like the Heralds?”

 _Yes, and no,_ Timbre said, shifting uncomfortably in her hands. _It’s complicated._

“You’ve said that before, and it wasn’t _that_ complicated,” Venli snapped. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on? Are you a lightspren or a _lie_ spren?”

Timbre wilted in Venli’s hands. _It’s very complicated! It’s pages and pages of information, and so much of it we can’t share right away. You have to discover it yourself!_

“...and what if I don’t care to join this event?” Venli asked. “What if I refuse?”

 _You can’t refuse!_ Timbre wailed. _Then the whole universe will end!_

“Then you’d best start being more clear,” Venli said, the rhythms in her voice harsh. Discordant. “Because otherwise I _will_ refuse, sister or no.”

 _Very well, where do you want me to start?_ Timbre asked, her voice a little sulky. _I’ll do my best not to be too complicated for you._

“Good,” Venli said, and considered her options carefully. “Go back to Classes and Aspects. I want to know how that works.”

 _Very well,_ Timbre said. _It all starts with..._

_Renarin == > Lie To Everyone _

“And that’s it,” Renarin murmured to Glys. “That’s the last of the letters and crystals delivered. It won’t be long now. The Game is supposed to be starting as soon as the first person enters.”

 _Have you decided on who yet?_ Glys asked, spreading himself across the back of Renarin’s neck and shoulders. _That decision is one of the most important ones you can make._

“Kaladin,” Renarin said unhesitatingly. “Though he’ll probably be the one to insist on himself, I doubt I’ll even need to push him. He’s so protective, he’ll insist on trying it first. That’s for _his_ team. The other team will be led by someone else. Venli, I think. She’ll be suspicious, so she needs to be a part of things quickly.”

 _It sounds like you have everything planned out,_ Glys said. _That’s why you were chosen, you know. Because you’re smart, and you know so much._

“I wonder...” Renarin murmured. “But no, thank you Glys. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. Let’s go to bed, I should tell him what’s going on.”

Glys hummed with agreement, and Renarin went to his rooms. His own crystals, identical and yet different to each of the ones given to the others, sat neatly arranged on a table, along with his own set of instructions.

 _A ruse of a sort,_ Renarin thought. _It will look less like I’m the organizer if I have the same things everyone else has. They’ll learn about how much I’m involved soon enough, but not before the circle closes._

Renarin took off his Bridge Four jacket and neatly hung it up, then untied his boots, tucking them underneath the bed. He reached up automatically to take off his glasses, then lowered his hands. He got into bed and laid down, folding his hands across his chest like the repose of a dead king lying in state.

 _Good night, Renarin,_ Glys said. _See you on the other side._

Renarin closed his eyes, and opened them in a different room entirely: this one was purple, not wholly dissimilar to his room in Urithiru, except that here the scratches he’d made on the wall were visible instead of hidden from common view.

 _I cannot hide from the truth here,_ Renarin mused, and got up. Instead of traditional Kholin blue, Renarin wore a deep, red-purple shade, a single crescent moon splayed over his chest in pale purple. He touched over it lightly. _Hello, Derse. Here I am again._

Renarin walked to the window and looked out over the moonlet from his high tower. There were buildings here, all of them purple, as purple as his room, though more blue than red. Down below, tiny people with skin as black as darkest night roamed, most carrying weapons of some kind.

 _Hello, Dersites,_ Renarin thought. _Nice to see you._

Across from his tower he could see the others, five others in all, with six total towers, which would match the numbers on Prospit, the golden planetoid and accompanying moonlet that matched Derse’s in all but temperament, colour, and purpose.

 _Hurry, Renarin, we don’t want to be late,_ Glys urged. _He’ll want to know that everything is in place._

“Of course,” Renarin said, and stepped out the window to fly. The Dersites looked up at him, pointing. He could all but hear their concerns, worried about what it meant that he was active. He couldn’t help but wave. _There’s no reason to fear, I’m on your side, in a sense._

Renarin flew towards the chain that kept Derse’s moonlet attached to its planetoid, and enjoyed the thrilling feeling of flight. He’d avoided the jealousy of some at Kaladin and the Windrunners’ abilities by being able to fly on Derse, though that had taken some cautious experimentation.

 _And people wonder why they have so many dreams about flying,_ Renarin thought. _They might be glimpsing the lives of their dream selves in a place like this or Prospit. Assuming they can participate in a game like this, though the games of the divine might be beyond their reach._

Renarin looked around as he flew towards the palace of the Black Monarchs. The pair held a very specific duty within the context of this game: they were the opposing force, the antagonists to the White Monarchs’ protagonists. The other half of the black and white checked board.

They were the enemy.

Renarin had found them both to be very particular, though limited in some ways. The Black King was something of a brute -- huge, hulking, and barely restrained from violence by the will of the Black Queen. She... she was different, and very curious about Renarin and his role.

 _She wants to know how she can use me to win,_ Renarin thought. _It’s in her nature, just as it’s in the White Queen’s nature to care about others, to sacrifice, to experience loss when the White King dies. I don’t take it personally, she’s not the worst of the people I’ve had to deal with in the past._

Before his father had changed his ways, Renarin had been approached by a number of different representatives of the highprinces. Most wanted a spy. Some wanted more, expecting him to hate his father, to betray him for his neglect, for the way he had been treated.

He’d taken a few bribes, just to see what it was like, but for the most part he’d turned them down. Some of that was because he was terrible at lying to them, though he’d gotten better under _his_ tutelage, but at other times it was because what they asked for wasn’t worth the risk of breaking his promises.

 _As if I would hurt my father, or Adolin,_ Renarin thought. _Even knowing what I know about both of them, their sins and their mistakes, I still couldn’t bear to see either of them harmed. This game is different, it’s the right thing to do. They_ need _to be here._

A pair of Dersites greeted Renarin as he landed in front of the palace’s doors, one short and squat, the other tall and thick-shouldered, representing the variety amongst an otherwise uniform race of beings. This close, their black skin was as firm and shining as a crustacean’s shell.

“Hello,” Renarin said. “I believe he’s expecting me?”

The larger one grunted, thumbing towards the door, while the shorter Carapacian beamed up at him. “Right this way, Seer. We’re all really excited to see how you’re going to win this one for Derse.”

“Thank you,” Renarin said. “I’m excited too.”

 _Don’t linger,_ Glys urged. _He needs to see you._

Renarin stepped inside the palace, and followed the deep purple carpet laid out in a narrow pathway across the black and purple checkered floor. He glanced at the statues that lined the entranceway, three on each side, each holding a banner with a different symbol. A pair of outstretched wings, a half filled in heart, a mask, a skull, a thin-petaled flower, and a circle with a jagged outer edge.

His symbol, and it was referred to as _Time._

There were a pair of thrones, black as night, padded with plush purple cloth, and _he_ stood in front of them both, the Black Monarchs nowhere in sight. _He_ was a pale skinned older man with a white beard and hair, his eyes a piercing, dangerous blue. A light-eyes. A _king._

 _He_ wore, in deference to his hosts, black and purple, a neat suit of clothes that Adolin would envy, complete with a long, thin silk cravat. He was half of this equation, and as part of his agreement with the other half, entirely confined to Derse in this form.

“Ah,” Odium said, holding his hands out. “Renarin. So good to see you. Tell me, is everything ready?”

Renarin accepted his hands, and allowed himself to be drawn forward. In his periphery, Glys went from black to red and then back again. Odium drew him close, and took Renarin’s chin and lifted it between finger and thumb, examining his features.

Renarin stayed still, and kept his mind entirely blank. “Yes, everything is ready. We await only the first players to begin their game.”

“Good, good,” Odium said, and released Renarin. “When should I expect to see you?”

“Not immediately, I wanted others to enter first,” Renarin said. “I want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Very good,” Odium said, his voice a purr. “You’ll be rewarded, I promise you that.”

“I know,” Renarin said simply. “I know I’ll get exactly what I deserve. I’m counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The zwischenzug is a chess tactic in which a player, instead of playing the expected move, first interposes another move posing an immediate threat that the opponent must answer, and only then plays the expected move.


End file.
